Worst Friends
by le-ouiaboo
Summary: Very old drabbles relating to the Bad Friends Trio, France, Spain, Prussia, from historical times to present. Contains several instances of drug and alcohol abuse and the aftereffects of such abuse, but mostly centered around friendship. Mature rating for sexual content, too.
1. You can't stop feeling

**You Can't Stop Feeling**

* * *

_based on the Quasi-War, 1798-1800, that soured relations between a new United States of America and its former ally, France_

* * *

Out of all of the rejections he had suffered, it was America's that had stung the most, the one that had made the least sense, to his mind at any rate. Because America had little reason to spurn his request - he should have at least considered it for a while longer, at least pretended that he still remembered the brilliance and warmth of their alliance, _his first alliance_, not more than ten years earlier.

Things had quickly escalated after the truth came out, America doggedly defending his leader's decisions to stay neutral, even if it meant going back to speaking terms with England in order to preserve his fragile new government. Words were said that should not have been said, ugly, hurtful accusations, but left unspoken was the pain of betrayal. Betrayal of what they once thought up together in the company of clever men and beautiful women, those bright dreams that would change the world more than anyone could have ever dreamed.

Really, it was ironic that America could find peace after his revolution, yet France found only further suffering after his.

Which explained why _they_ stayed with him this night, in this apartment, watching as he tried to drink himself into oblivion. How unfortunate that they were nations, creatures with long secret memories that four bottles of cheap champagne can not entirely erase, not even for a few hours. And yet he still tried, as they all did, when the memories of centuries became too much for one mind to bear.

Sitting beside him on the chaise, Spain reached out to steady his brother nation, murmuring worriedly under his breath upon feeling the feverish heat emanating from his skin, the uncontrollable occasional shivers. Prussia had returned from seeing the two young prostitutes out the door, where he had paid them extra despite their futile efforts to comfort their friend. France, of all people, had refused their charms and instead poured them flute after tiny flute of bubbling champagne until they were all giggling madly over his morbid jests, like three desperate, drifting kindred souls. But even those girls could have families and lovers; France, on the other hand, had alienated the ones closest to him.

Most of them, anyway.

Prying the empty glass out of the other nation's trembling fingers, Spain whispered, "France, please, no more for tonight. I can not bear to see you like this."

"Don't you patronize me as well," France hissed, drawing breath to start another tirade and then getting interrupted by a violent hiccup. Prussia managed to push over a chamber pot with his boot right before France leaned forward and threw up everything he had consumed in the past several hours - the sole piece of bread they had managed to shove down his throat that afternoon, and whatever alcohol he had been drinking in place of food.

Sighing in exasperation, Prussia rubbed his back while France miserably tried to wipe his mouth with the last clean handkerchief Spain possessed.

"God, you are such a fucking mess."

Weeks of incessant moping and constant drinking, interspersed with what can be most accurately described as temper tantrums, of the sort that could start a war, and very nearly did. They had to assume that France must have felt some true affection for America, at least for a little while, to have been so utterly devastated by the former colony's repudiation, to snipe at the boy like a jealous ex-lover, to take each of his words as a dagger to his already bleeding heart.

"Look at you, pining away like a lovesick calf, and for whom?" Prussia growled, and in his irritation, the rubbing motions became less comforting and more heavy-handed, causing Spain to discreetly squeeze his fingers in warning. "Nothing more than an uncultured, arrogant little shit of a nation. Trust me, France, you are better off without him."

France glared at Prussia, eyes shining too brightly, cheeks flushed from hurt pride. "If moving on was that simple, I would have done so already…"

"What is it that's holding you back, then?" No answer but sullen silence. "See? You don't even know! It's over between the two of you. Forget about him, he's not worth your time, not anymore."

"Please think of yourself, France, if nothing else," Spain said soothingly, as he tucked a strand of France's hair behind his ear. "And remember that Prussia and I are still here for you."

"Not for long," France mumbled dejectedly, voice cracking from stress and self-inflicted despair. "You will not be my friends for much longer."

Then he passed out from severe alcohol poisoning, and it was not until several years later that they finally realized what he meant. By then, Napoleon had conquered most of Europe, leaving everyone stunned and humiliated by this incredible turnaround in France's fortune.

But there was one happy ending to the story, Spain would always add in that maddeningly cheerful way of his, because France and America were able to reconcile due to Napoleon's influence.

And then Prussia would punch him in the shoulder.


	2. Mary Jane

"What the hell's going on? I was trying to call you all night!" Prussia stomped down into the smoky air of the basement, like a diver submersing himself into unknown depths, almost falling when his foot expected a step and hit floor instead, but he regained his balance as only an awesome former nation could.

"My apologies, Prussia, I couldn't find my phone," France murmured, sprawling elegantly upon the couch, with the "missing" phone in question lying ignored on the floor. "But come partake of our green-leafed bounty. Spain is here, he has that… thing… if you like to use it."

From his perch on the other side of the couch, Spain waved sleepily, practically obscured by the haze coming from the glass water pipe, and Prussia nodded back, snickering at how far gone he was.

"Nah, I'll just take a joint." He flopped down on an overstuffed chair next to France, who had somehow gathered enough coordination to roll another joint, licking the paper's edge with a wicked grin before sealing it and handing it over.

"Ugh, that's gross," Prussia said, but he let France light it for him anyway. Taking a deep drag, he looked over at the other two, glassy-eyed and completely stoned out of their minds, which meant they might be more coherent than usual. They were his best friends, for lack of a better term, but he sometimes had to wonder if they had any lung tissue left after centuries of smoking anything that could be inhaled. Well, at least they were fun to hang out with sometimes, unlike a certain uptight curfew-abiding sibling he could name.

Yawning happily, Spain leaned back into the couch cushions, and then giggled like an idiot when his stomach growled.

"Sorry, heh heh~"

"Hungry, _frere_?" France asked drowsily, reaching over to rub Spain's stomach but ended up patting his groin instead, although knowing France, that might have been entirely on purpose. Spain just laughed again, pulling France's hand up where it then conveniently slid underneath his shirt, and any further conversation was soon replaced by the sound of sloppy kisses.

Suddenly feeling hungry as well, Prussia set his joint down and rummaged through the boxes scattered over the coffee table, searching for any sort of sustenance.

"All right, here we go." With a snort, he held out an opened box towards France, who was currently draped over an unresisting Spain and molesting him with impressive determination. "What the hell are these?"

"Macarons marijuana, obviously," France announced, glancing over his shoulder with the look of a proud father beholding a newborn son for the first time. "My special recipe, I think it will be a hit in… In…" He trailed off, distracted by Spain's fingers drawing up his shirt and stroking his spine insistently.

Shrugging, Prussia picked up a delicate green-flecked biscuit and bit into it. Tasted like shit, but at this point, he really didn't care. He gobbled down the rest of the macarons too quickly, and now could not ignore the fact that his best friends were attempting to get off right next to him. Noisily.

"Okay, you two," Prussia interrupted, crawling over beside them and trying to pry France off of the other nation. "Enough, you can do that any time."

"Aw, come on…" Spain protested, sitting up awkwardly and plucking at Prussia's arms around France's waist, who decided now would be a good time to grope the former nation.

"Stop that, I said, STOP IT!" Prussia sputtered, clapping a hand over France's mouth and trying to keep him from kissing his nose. "Bad nation! No more prostitutes for you!"

He ignored the whines coming from the other two and tried to outline his awesome plan for the night using very simple words with as few syllables as possible. It went something like this…

"First, we're going to go out and we're going to do awesome stuff. And we're going to try to not get arrested."

"And then?" France and Spain sounded genuinely interested probably because anything sounded interesting in their state.

"And then we're going to do cool stuff. I'll think of it when we get there. Yes. Now, who's going to drive?"

Spain's hand shot up. "Ah, me, I want to drive!" he shouted excitedly, and then promptly fell off the couch, which was quite a feat since France had been sitting on his ankles.

"Right, I guess I'm driving," Prussia muttered.

[epilogue]

About five hours later, Germany went to bail them out of a prison in Switzerland, where they were being held for several counts of illegal drug possession, reckless driving, driving while under the influence, indecent exposure, public indecency, defacing of public property, indecency with a minor, indecency with animals, and indecency with an extraterrestrial being, although the last one was not confirmed by Switzerland.


End file.
